Rob March slumped into his seat with an exhausted sigh. It had been another
long day and he was glad that the most unpleasant part of it had finally ground
down to a shuddering halt. His work was mentally undemanding, and the drudgery
of it drained him from an intelligent keen young man into a tired, apathetic
shadow of his former self.

"Drink?" Dave West shouted out from the bathroom. He stepped into
the shared lounge and gestured with his thumb to the replicator.

"Drink?!" Rob smiled weakly. "Are you kidding? Beer. Bring me
lots and lots of beer." Dave grinned back at him ordered two from the
machine. They appeared in a shimmering beam of light.

"You look as tired as I feel! Another long day, huh?" Rob shifted
around in the seat but couldn't quite manage to find a comfortable position. He
sighed to himself wearily as he looked down at the beer like it was both the
cause of and the answer to every problem in his life. He looked up towards Dave
in much the same way, and sighed again as he nodded his reply.

"Yeah!" Dave agreed. "These days are always the worst. Every
time we dock with another ship and new passengers come aboard, my team has to
work twice as hard. Tomorrow will be fine again, I should think." He sat
down heavily next to his roommate and the pair drank greedily at the first of
what would probably be many beers that evening. The cool bitterness washed over
their senses.

"Twice as hard as what?" Rob frowned. "You lot don't do
anything. Two zeros are still zero, you know?"

"Computer," said Dave, "is there anybody here who cares what
Rob thinks?"

"Unable to respond to question." the computer replied. Dave
shrugged and looked over to him.

"Nobody cares what you think, Rob. Even the computer doesn't care."

"Did you check out the new passengers yet?" Rob gasped as he
swallowed a mouthful of cold beer. "I was working on the forward guest
lounge today. I think I saw most of them as they came through for lunch."

"I saw them." Dave grinned. "I saw three in particular. A
brunette, a blonde, and a bald girl caught my eye. I'm guessing the bald one is
not from Earth. I'm more interested in the brunette though. She's pretty
attractive—not as attractive as me but I don't mind lowering my standards once
in a while."

"Standards, Dave? Since when?" Rob frowned. "Anyway, how do
you know the bald girl isn't from Earth? Lots of people on Earth shave their
heads you know!"

"She had horns." Dave shrugged. "Three of them. They were
coming out of the top of her head. I'm not saying it was a bad thing. In fact, I
think she was probably the second best looking passenger to come aboard. With a
few beers inside me I would definitely try my luck with her." He grinned
widely. "With enough beers inside me I'd probably try my luck with
you."

"I saw the brunette." Rob sat back and smiled to himself.
"Tall, slim and businesslike. She was Asian and dressed really neatly in a
grey suit, and had dark eyes." She was strikingly attractive and he had
been struck.

"Yeah." Dave nodded and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "That
sounds like her. Did you talk to her then?"

Rob took a deep breath and smiled smugly.

"Yeah." he nodded slowly to himself. "I talked to her. I think
we developed a real connection."

"No way!" said Dave, shaking his head.

Dave had a confidence with women, an easy charm he turned on like a switch.
He was good looking and he knew it, and coupled with his easy-going personality
it was enough to afford him a great deal of luck with certain members of the
opposite sex. As there was little else about him of note, this simple fact was
something he took a great deal of pride in. He enjoyed exhibiting his success in
front of his room-mate whose luck with women while aboard the ship was limited
to a single brief drunken encounter with an unidentified alien female who was
covered in a layer of fine green hair. He had no particular talents and no
particular skills. He was so utterly bereft of ability he considered it
something of a speciality, and often bragged that he was able to turn his hand
to practically nothing. He considered himself a "Jack of no trades",
and one night after consuming copious amount of beer he had postulated the
theory that this might actually be a super-power and that perhaps he had been
bitten by a radioactive idiot.

What Rob lacked in confidence and success with the opposite sex he made up
for in intelligence, at least while not under the influence of alcohol. He was
studying for a brighter future and specialised in warp-field theory whenever his
busy schedule of consuming huge amounts of alcohol and then regretting the
consumption of huge amounts of alcohol would allow. His talents were not matched
with enthusiasm and he'd taken a year out to go travelling aboard a commercial
ship in order to see and build a greater understanding of the galaxy. A year had
stretched into three—so far—and still he hadn't found a direction that
really interested him. If the truth be told, he had seen and understood less of
the galaxy than he would have by doing practically anything else in the known
Universe; with the possible exception of being Dave.

"You?" Dave frowned suspiciously. "You had a long conversation
with the best looking passenger to come aboard this ship?" Rob simply
nodded. "Well... what did you talk about?"

"Well." Rob began thoughtfully. "First she asked me about the
lunchtime specials, and then she ordered the salad."

Dave laughed.

"Yeah that sounds about right! For a moment I must have forgotten who I
was talking to"

"Yeah." Rob shrugged. "Always the bridesmaid, never the
bride."

"So what do you know about her?" Dave asked. "Is she
travelling alone? What's her name? Where is she going?"

"She asked for a clean fork." Rob told him. "She said that the
one on the table was a little bit dirty and would I mind changing it. What she
didn't do was tell me her entire life story. People don't do that to waiters for
some reason. Maybe that's what wrong with society?"

"Well I guess I'll have to find out for myself, as you're so
useless." Dave told him with a wry grin. "Luckily people do like to
tell security officers everything. Females like to tell handsome young men like
me all about themselves, and occasionally I even listen to them. At least at
first."

"You're not a security officer!" Rob laughed. "You bring
people towels and report problems with replicators. On a good day you supervise
repairs to the passengers' toilets."

"Problems with shortages of towels could conceivably threaten the
security of this ship!" Dave scowled at him angrily. "Anyway, I don't
think that the Federation would collapse if a table went without a waiter. I
don't think the Borg are waiting for the first sign of a slightly dirty fork
before they invade our space again."

"Ok." said Rob. "I agree. In terms of the wider universe we're
both a complete waste of time and resources. We're less useful than a Klingon
marriage guidance councillor."

"What if that Klingon needed a towel?" Dave asked. "Just think
about that for a minute."

"No. I refuse to think about that for even a second." Rob shook his
head and returned his interest to his beer. "Computer." he said.
"Put on today's local news."

"Computer! Don't you dare." Dave interrupted.

"Unable to comply." the computer responded. "Please clarify
the command."

"Now you've confused the computer!" said Rob with a grin.
"Throw a towel at it or something."

Dave glared at him.

"I'll throw a towel at you in a minute."

Rob shrugged. "So?" Dave looked away grumpily as the news came up
on the main viewer. "People have been known to survive encounters with
towels. Even Klingon towels."

"Do you think Klingons use towels?" Dave mused. "Do you think
they have showers?" He frowned thoughtfully as if pondering something of
great importance. "I don't think they have towels."

Federation passenger cruiser

The image of a man appeared on the screen. He was tall and austere, and as he
spoke he did so with a kind of confidence that inspired trust in his words. At
the bottom of the screen his name flashed up informing the audience he was a
level 2 investigator.

"Today, Hephaistos Engineering have responded to recent reports of
widespread inconsistencies in their shuttle supply network. Hephaistos
Engineering is the largest independent small vehicle development company in the
Federation and have contracts to supply type 6, 7 and 12 shuttles. They also
developed the replicator patterns for many more designs including the type 9, 10
and the Danube class Runabout. There is an unsubstantiated rumour that they are
working closely with the Star Fleet Command to develop the replacement for the
Runabout, the Everest class scout vessel." He looked directly out of
the screen and smiled, showing off two rows of perfect white teeth and a smug
belief in his own arrogant sense of self importance.

"Federation United News reported last week that as many as 40 type 6
shuttles have gone missing over the past three months and at least two Danube
class Runabouts are still unaccounted for. The chairman of Hephaistos, Mr. Grego
Pachman made the following statement..." The image of the man faded
away.

An older gentleman filled the screen. He seemed almost bored with the matter
as though it was far beneath his interests. His office was large and ornately
styled. Most of the furniture was old, made of wood and metal and was decorated
with small models of famous vessels that had been built by his company.

"I find the accusations of missing shuttle-craft absolutely ridiculous.
In the first instance we're primarily concerned with the development of
shuttlecraft design, construction is a secondary concern. The shuttles we do
supply are usually to small outposts without the ability to replicate and
construct them with their own engineering staff. Outposts such as these rarely
have the excellent record-keeping and level of professionalism that either
Starfleet or ourselves maintain." He paused momentarily to look
directly at the holographic imager the interview was recorded on.

"I would like to address any additional concerns by reminding your
viewers that when a shuttle leaves our assembly plant it is barely more than a
shell. The engines are separate. It will have no reactor installed and the
batteries will be completely discharged. There is no way the vessels could be
operated without final assembly by qualified personnel. Additionally they are
all unarmed. Weapons are never fitted at our factories—if phasers are to be
installed then they're built and fitted elsewhere and such equipment is quite
outside our experience." He smiled smugly. "I would like to
address the issue that was mentioned in the previous news article that our ships
come with weapons mounting points and could be armed. Well in some cases it's
true that our shuttles have holes. They are designed to have several empty bays
which can accept mission-specific equipment. I hardly think we're causing any
significant danger by supplying empty spaces."

A slightly muffled voice called out from behind the recorder.

"And what are you doing to investigate these allegations?"

"Well I believe the allegations are ridiculous." The chairman
shrugged. "However it would be irresponsible of us not to take them
seriously, so a review of our security procedures has been undertaken.
Additionally we've ordered a full investigation of our inventory, which I'm
certain will show that we can trace each and every vessel that has left our
plant."

"Thank you for your time." The muffled voice said. The chairman
nodded graciously and muttered something about it being no problem.

"Off!" Dave called out. "That's enough news for now. We're
drinking beer, this is no time for your brain to start working."

"You know if you don't use your brain, it will become even more useless
than it is now." Rob warned him. "You really need to address this
issue because today I served a piece of asparagus that I actually think could
have beaten you in a game of chess."

"Yeah, that means a lot coming from a waiter with an advanced degree in
Warp-field theory dynamics and a class 1 certificate in pouring out little
glasses of water and folding paper napkins." he grinned. "Another
beer?"

"Do Klingons eat their own young?" Rob replied rhetorically,
frowning at himself for agreeing with his room-mate's sentiment. His casually
racist comment was a colloquial expression from his home town, an obvious
statement of fact used to imply that such a question could only have an obvious
positive answer. It was similar to the older practice on Earth of asking if the
Pope was Catholic, or if bears crapped in the woods. These phrases however had
lost a great deal of their cultural impact now that Catholicism was largely
forgotten and bears were mostly extinct. Some examples of the species existed in
the American Museum of Ancient Horrors, which by coincidence, also exhibited a
wax effigy of the last Pope in the neighbouring section.

"You know what?" said Dave thoughtfully. "I think they
probably do."

Rob took a sip.

"So you think you've got a chance with this brunette?" he asked
sarcastically. "You think a beautiful, intelligent lady is going to be
interested in the dubious sexual charms of a self-absorbed moron who shows up at
her door with a friendly smile and a fluffy pink towel, asking if her toilet is
in full working order?"

"I saw another girl come aboard." Dave sat back down, grinning.
"She had a transparent head and three eyes. As she spoke, a kind of green
liquid ran out of what I can only assume was her nose. She was hairy and she
smelled like burning rubber. I think I've got more chance with the brunette than
you've got with that one."

"Really." Rob glared at him out of the side of his eye, his
annoyance growing steadily. "Care to make a bet about it?"

"A bet?" Dave laughed. "You've got nothing I want. Everything
you own came out of the replicator. My replicator, because even that's on my
side of the room. You actually have nothing of any value and no skills. You're
not even a very good waiter. You can't even make paper swans out of the
napkins." His mood suddenly darkened and he took on a serious expression
for a moment. "I don't think you realise how disappointed I was when I
found out I was sharing a room with a waiter that couldn't do the paper
swans."

"That's not going to be an issue because I'm not going to lose."
Rob scowled at him.

"You want to bet on the alien?" Dave smiled. "I'm not even
sure I like those odds for you but I don't mind being a little bit charitable,
just this once."

"The brunette!" He shook his head. "I bet you I can get
further with her than you can."

Dave looked at him for a moment, a smile carved itself on his face. He had
the expression of a man who thought such a thing was ridiculous and that his
friend was an idiot. Possibly a ridiculous idiot that he didn't really want as a
friend.

"I'm intrigued." he admitted. "I'm intrigued that you think
you have a shot with any woman on this ship that doesn't live in a holodeck or
charge by the hour."

"Ok." said Rob with a shrug. "I understand that you're afraid
to lose. Don't worry about it. You can walk away with your version of pride more
or less intact."

"No, no." said Dave, grinning widely. "I'm very much in. This
is going to be fun—too much fun to pass up."

"Excellent." Rob smiled. "If you win I'll do your laundry for
a month. You can do mine when I win."

"Ok..." said Dave thoughtfully. "But you have to do it
manually."

"Sure." he agreed. "Why not?"

"I'm going to eat Klingon food for a month so that when you wash my
underwear you really enjoy the experience on a multitude of emotional
levels." Dave told him with a serious expression intended to convey to Rob
that he really meant what he was saying. "And I'm going to bring her back
here as often as possible. I might even use your bed to seal the deal."

"No problem." Rob told him. "It's never going to happen. I'm
going to win. You may have confidence and charm, but in truth you're little more
than a noisy haircut. I'm willing to bet she's not the kind of woman that jumps
into bed with someone out of gratitude for the delivery of a clean towel."

"Maybe you're right." Dave conceded with a shrug. "Maybe she's
the kind of girl who desperately needs to understand the warp-field dynamics of
her cutlery while she tries to decide if she wants the soup of the day or a
delicious salad."

"So it's war!" Rob told him gravely. "Let it begin."

"Fine!" said Dave with a note of steadfast severity. "Go get
me a beer." He pointed at the replicator and his eyes narrowed
aggressively.

"Ok." he nodded. He stared back at him, their eyes locked together.
"What kind of beer would you like?"

"I would like selection 38." he growled. "It's a little less
gassy but still full-flavoured."

The door slid closed behind him with a customary hiss. He ran his hand over
his short ginger hair and loosened the collar of his civilian uniform. It was
designed to look similar to a Starfleet uniform, but with differences obvious
enough to be noticed by anyone with an adult level of intelligence.

"Computer. News." he called out as he stepped into the cabin. It
was a small room, but with just enough space for the pair of them to be
relatively comfortable. Like all the crew quarters it lacked a window with a
view of space, but it had a bathroom, a decent computer interface, separate beds
and a replicator. It was, in fact, better equipped than officers' quarters on
board some small starships.

A woman appeared on the screen. She was quite pretty but had a maturity that
made her more appealing to a wider audience and more trustworthy besides. She
was dressed in clothes that were neat, but were not interesting enough to draw
attention from the importance of what she was going to say. She frowned out of
the view screen as if the following message would have earth-shattering
implications.

"Breaking news, another act of piracy was reported earlier today, which
brings the total to three incidents this month in this region alone. Admiral
Chor of Starfleet has issued the following statement." The screen
switched to a view of very fat officer standing outside Starfleet Headquarters
on Earth.

"Starfleet is aware of the growing activity from pirates in the 401-408
sector, and we have strong grounds to suspect that this is indicative of a new
rise in activity from the Orion Syndicate. Although the syndicate never formally
stopped operating, our patrols have for the most part successfully inhibited
their ability to function freely in Federation space. These latest incidents are
quite troubling, if indeed they do show a re-emergence of Orion activity. We are
dispatching two vessels to the region to investigate. Let me be clear in
reiterating that the Federation takes a very hard stance on piracy. Those
responsible will be found and dealt with to the full extent of interstellar
law." He glared at the audience accusingly and flushed red with rage.

The screen flashed to a shot of space with two small Starfleet vessels
cruising along.

"A pair of cruisers have been sent to patrol the region and raise the
level of defensiveness. Starfleet is confident that the acts of piracy will
cease and threats to civilian vessels will remain negligible."

"News off." Dave waved his hand at the computer screen.
"That's quite enough of that. Nobody cares what's going on in the
Universe."

"I actually do care!" Rob grumbled weakly. "I wanted to hear
that."

"Starfleet, huh?" Dave sighed wistfully, ignoring him.
"Sometimes I wish I were aboard one of their mighty ships. I wish I was on
patrol, hunting down Orion pirates and keeping the space lanes safe for
civilians."

"I think they have enough towels!" Rob told him.

"You know what bugs me about you?" Dave glared at him with a
strangely serious expression that seemed highly out of character. "You
could be in Starfleet. You know all about warp stuff and space things. You could
be running a ship's engineering team in a few years if you wanted to. Instead
you serve little bread rolls to people who don't even like to make eye-contact
with you."

"You forget that in most evenings I get horribly drunk." Rob
reminded him in his own defence, gesturing with one hand towards the beer he was
holding in the other.

"I will concede that point." Dave admitted. "But don't you
wish you were doing more than just wasting your life on a trade route being a
waiter when you're already qualified to do something more?"

"Not really." he shrugged. "I know you don't watch a lot of
news so I don't know if you realise, but a lot of people shoot at Starfleet
ships. Even if nobody's shooting at them, they blow up all the time, shuttles
crash far too often, there's an appalling fatality rate for junior officers,
especially those in yellow shirts and it seems like there's a life threatening
or dramatic incident aboard most starships every week."

"Yeah." Dave said thoughtfully. "It does seem to happen every
week, usually on a Tuesday. I wonder why that is?" They looked at each
other in silence for a moment. "Guess what?" Dave said finally with
obvious excitement.

"I don't know." Rob shrugged. "Have you been experimenting
with a new kind of fabric conditioner? Are your towels now huggably soft? Do
they have the delightful fragrance of summer meadows? Has someone discovered how
to unblock a toilet with a towel, thus making your life complete?"

"It's nothing to do with towels, I assure you. It's much more
exciting."

Rob frowned curiously. "I honestly dread to think." he said
thoughtfully. "The last time you asked me to guess what happened, you had
got a date with an Altraxian officer in charge of cargo bay 2. Remember that, he
turned out to be a man?"

"We don't talk about that. We agreed." Dave reminded him sternly,
pointing an accusing finger. "I still can't go down to the lower bay. I
just can't bring myself to do it."

"And why did he agree to date you again?" Rob smiled.

"He thought I was a girl." Dave frowned darkly. "Or a very
pretty man. Apparently the distinction is not such a big deal on Altrax."

"I particularly like the part of that story when you found out he was a
man, when it turned out you had both brought along precautions, and both took
them out at the end of dinner to show how responsible you were prepared to be to
someone of the weaker sex." Rob grinned. "Yes, I think that's my
favourite part of that story. I think that might be my favourite part of any
story, ever."

"Anyway..." Dave frowned at him. "Today I was called to room
42 on Passenger deck 3. Guess who's staying there?"

"Is it a man with long hair?" asked Rob with an innocent shrug.
"Perhaps a very pretty man?"

"It's a brunette." he grinned back smugly. "It's a Miss Somari
Rakdee. She needed help from the passenger services division. Before you ask,
she didn't need a towel!"

"Blocked toilet?" Rob shrugged.

"It wasn't blocked as such..." he frowned back. "Anyway, she's
travelling alone. I turned on the charm and I found out she isn't married and
she has no children." Dave smiled with a sense of overwhelming
self-satisfaction. "I almost feel sorry for her—she has no chance."

"I actually do feel sorry for her." Rob told him. "Not as
sorry as I feel for you..."

"Shall I leave my laundry on your bed?" Dave grinned.

"Leave it in Bangkok." Rob told him with a grin. Dave shrugged
back, slightly mystified. "That's where she was born, although her father
was French." he continued. Dave narrowed his eyes suspiciously and glared
at him. "She speaks three languages, English, French, Thai, and she's
learning German."

"So why do Americans speak English? Why don't they speak American? Why
is Earth so confusing?" asked Dave, clearly struggling to make sense of
things so basic a child would have been frustrated at him.

"You come from Earth? I don't know how you can find any of this
confusing".

"It takes a lot of effort." He frowned to himself.

Rob grinned at him.

"What I do know is that she likes orange juice and she doesn't like
chicken soup."

"I'm impressed." Dave finally admitted. "You've spoken to a
woman. I actually didn't think you had it in you. Of course talking to one is a
lot different to throwing them out of your place after breakfast. Before
breakfast is better."

"Well I didn't have the awesome negotiating power of a blocked toilet at
my disposal." said Rob with an expression of sarcastic regret. "But
well done for finding out that she had a name. Good for you. That puts her one
step ahead of your last three girlfriends."

"This isn't over!" Dave told him, shaking his head sadly as if in
pity. "This is just beginning."

"Bring the beers!" Rob instructed with a wave to the replicator.
"Then I think we should go to the crew lounge where I have heard there is a
supply of the kind of beer that gives you a headache if you drink too much of
it."

"That's my favourite kind of beer!" said Dave thoughtfully.
"Shall we drink too much of it? Shall we drink until we think chatting up
the girls from the docking crew is a good idea?"

Rob frowned and looked away in disgust.

"I don't think there's that much of any kind of beer on the whole
ship."

"Let's hope you're right, shall we?"

The end of a shift was always a special part of the day for Rob. It meant he
had a few moments of peaceful time to himself before Dave's shift also finished.
They had little in common, but you couldn't share a small cabin with another
crew member without becoming friends unless you were willing to kill them. Rob
far preferred becoming friends, although he had done some research into the
disposal of corpses into the replicator matrix. Dave had in fact been a pretty
good friend, and they had shared many interesting nights getting so drunk that
he could barely remember any of them.

"News!" he said, and the viewer flicked up the latest report.

The report began, the voice sounding extremely serious as the viewscreen lit
up with an image of a suspected pirate vessel.

"Reports coming in from within Romulan space claim that Orion Syndicate
vessels have begun appearing and threatening small vessels, with the most likely
intention of stealing technology. According to sources on Romulus, an incident
was recorded in which a ship of unrecognised configuration fired upon a small
science vessel. The energy discharge matched the configuration of a Starfleet
type phaser beam."

The screen went blank and then flashed to a very angry looking officer,
craning forward over his desk, glaring into the holographic imager as he began
to speak. Below him the report flashed that he was Rear-Admiral Paul M Cass,
responsible for security in this region of Federation space.

"This incident brings us two problems. Firstly, there's the fact of the
Romulans claiming that a Starfleet type weapon was discharged in their space.
From a peacekeeping perspective this is already a serious concern, but if the
report turns out to be accurate, then we'll have the additional task of trying
to determine who is in possession of one of our phasers and how they came by it.
By design, each phaser weapon is coded to the power generation signature of the
vessel it's mounted to—you can't simply bolt one onto the side of a pirate
ship and go shooting holes in unarmed Romulan vessels, or else everyone would be
out there doing it." He paused for a moment and sat back.
"Secondly, if pirates are hunting down Romulan technology, then we have to
assume they may come into possession of a cloaking device. If that happens, then
we're all in trouble. Starfleet is investigating these claims as we speak, and
will hopefully resolve them to everybody's satisfaction before the situation
escalates. We are currently enjoying the best diplomatic terms with the Romulans
that we've had in a century and we intend to maintain this enviable
situation."

Coming
in to dock

"Computer." said Dave as he walked through the doors which slid
open automatically. "Turn off the news and play some music." Rob
glared at him and began to open his mouth to protest.

"Please specify." the computer prompted.

"Something good." Dave told it. The computer started playing
something reasonably melodic. He made an expression of disapproval but let it
play in any case. "How was your day, Rob?"

"It was fine." he shrugged, still frowning at his room-mate.
"I was actually interested in the news."

"Well I'm interested in the brunette!" he grinned. "So I
win."

"Somari Rakdee?" Rob reminded him sternly. "She has a name,
you know!"

"They all have names." Dave smiled to himself. "I can't
remember all of them. Anyway, I was in her room again today."

"That's great." Rob sighed. "What did you find out this time?
Did you discover what kind of toothpaste she uses while your arm was entrenched
in her U-bend?

"Actually..." began Dave, seeming suddenly thoughtful, "she
was talking on a secure communications line. I had to deliver the access codes
because there was a connection problem. I heard a bit of the communication—it
was pretty intense. There's more to this girl than what she's hiding under that
dress."

"I wonder what constitutes intense to a man whose primary role in life
is ensuring the passengers have something to dry their hands on?" Rob
goaded him.

"She was talking to someone about missing shuttles." Dave
continued. Rob went quiet, his face taking on a look of interest. "She
mentioned the supply lanes and she said she knew where they were going."

"Interesting." Rob rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So you think
she might be involved in the missing shuttles?"

"Yeah. Now you said that, I do." Dave nodded in agreement.
"That's what I think!"

"There is just one problem with your theory, as I see it." Rob
began thoughtfully. Dave gestured for him to continue. "You're an idiot,
Dave."

"Agreed! But you didn't hear the best part."

"I dread to think." Rob frowned and braced himself for the best
part.

"She mentioned the news article." Dave began. "She said she
had watched it and then she got angry. She said she'd sort it out next time, and
they had better get it right or else there was going to be big trouble."

"She actually said that?" Rob frowned. "That they had better
get it right or else there was going to be big trouble? That's exactly what she
actually said?"

Dave put his hand on his heart.

"I swear to the gods of beer and shuttle-racing." he began
solemnly. "That is basically exactly more-or-less what she said."

"Well it doesn't mean anything." Rob shook his head and tried to
look like he was ignoring him.

"I'll tell you what it doesn't mean." Dave grinned. "It
doesn't mean I'm going to give up on our bet. Today I ate an authentic Indian
curry from the canteen, which was appalling by the way. I had them make up an
especially ferocious batch brimming with authentic herbs, spices and germs. I
feel like I've been eating infected razorblades, Rob, and I'm actually concerned
about my anus turning inside out from the amount of time I've spent sitting on
the toilet. I farted and turned the entire toilet bowl yellow, Rob. I'm going to
wear my underwear for an extra day to make washing it even more special for
you." Rob looked at him in something that surpassed disgust.
"Tomorrow, Rob, I'm going to have them make me an authentic Thai green
curry. Extra spicy. Last time I ate that I lost half a stone in a weekend and
98% of the functionality of my left kidney. I'm doing this just for you, Rob.
It's the only way you'll learn. I only hope you appreciate all the effort I'm
going to for you."

"Yeah, I heard that it made its way onto the lunchtime menu. I actually
recommended the curry to her before I found out what you'd done. The sick-bay is
full of people who think they're decomposing from the inside out and they're
replicating toilet-rolls around the clock." Rob frowned and shook his head
at him sadly." At least she remembered me from yesterday though."

"So?" Dave shrugged. "You have bright ginger hair. Your head
looks like a rat trying to escape from a basketful of carrots. You're easier to
remember than a scary clown at a children's party. People are going to be
describing you to their councillors in twenty years time." He paused for a
moment and narrowed his eyes. "In fact if you wore a big red nose..."

"So anyway," Rob interrupted as Dave began smirking to himself,
"I got chatting about things as I took her order. She asked me my name. Did
she ask you your name?"

"Really!" said Dave with a sarcastic expression as his lips pulled
into a beaming smile. "I bet her clothes just fell off, didn't they? What
woman could possibly resist a man talking about complicated maths while serving
her a crunchy salad? You've definitely cracked it there, Rob."

"She seemed very interested." Rob told him. He looked thoughtful
for a moment. "Actually she seemed very interested. She asked why
warp-theory is so different for shuttles as to what it is for larger
vessels."

"Yeah." Rob shrugged. "Actually you're right for once. Women
aren't usually interested in that kind of thing, and she asked a lot of
questions."

"So she's boring?" Dave shrugged. "I can handle that. It's not
like I'm ever planning to see her again afterwards. That's not how I roll."

"Maybe." Rob started at him fixedly. "Or maybe you're right.
Maybe she is up to something."

"Well whatever she's up to, it won't be with you." said Dave
earnestly. "There is only one sensible and mature manner in which to
proceed."

"I think you're right." Rob nodded gravely. "It's time for
beer."

"And lots of it!" Dave added.

"There are three new news reports for this region." the
computer stated succinctly. "The titles of the reports are, ‘Orion
vessel in unconfirmed sighting in sector 402', ‘Shuttle manufacturer confirms
parts are missing from inventory', ‘fish deliveries from Omega-prime cause
chronic flatulence in Vulcans shock."

"No." Dave winced. "I don't want to hear about any of that.
Search news feed for the words ‘underwear' and ‘bikini'."

"Searching." the computer replied in an artificial monotone
which still sounded somehow disapproving. The doors slid open suddenly.

"How was your lunchtime shift?" Dave asked as Rob walked into the
cabin with a stain on his uniform and an expression which conveyed the message
that it had not been everything he could have possibly hoped.

"It was just peachy." said Rob, pointing to the stain. "This
is peachy too. A kid threw it at me because, apparently it wasn't peachy
enough."

"Just stick it in the laundry. It'll be fine." Dave smirked in
amusement.

"This is going back in the replicator." Rob grumbled. "This is
beyond laundry."

"I saw the brunette again this morning." Dave called out.
"There is definitely something strange going on with her."

"Yeah?" Rob called back from the bathroom. He stepped out with the
jacket of the uniform removed and was dabbing at the shirt underneath with a
towel. "I was thinking the same thing. I spoke to her at lunch and I think
you might actually be right about something for once."

"I guess it had to happen sometime!" Dave shrugged. "You'll
never guess what I saw in her room."

"If you're going to describe her underwear in painfully graphic detail,
then I should warn you that I've had a bad day and I'm looking for someone to
direct the full force of my ginger rage at." Rob told him evenly.

"Interesting." Dave rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I didn't
know you could feel anger. I thought ginger people didn't have souls."

"We don't." Rob shook his head. "That's why I can kill you
without feeling any remorse whatsoever. Do you want me to show you?"

"Maybe later." Dave shrugged, but gave him a slightly suspicious
look. "Before my next double-shift would be ideal for me. You'd actually be
doing me a favour."

Rob smiled back and nodded in agreement.

"I know what you mean. So what did you see in her room? Please keep it
clean."

Dave frowned and his expression hardened into something more serious.

"She'd left a Padd on her table and I read it." he began. "It
had details of where the stolen shuttles were being transferred to. It had a map
open."

"Really?" Rob tried to look sarcastic but couldn't quite manage it.
"I chatted with her about the ship that transferred her on—the small
transport vessel we docked with."

"And?" urged Dave expectantly.

"It came from Starbase 33." Rob's brow furrowed thoughtfully.
"According to the news, that's where the supply depot that the shuttles
went missing from is located."

"14 people came aboard from that transport." said Dave, his voice
low and serious. "Every one of them looks suspicious."

"How do you know?" Rob asked. "How comes you managed to meet
them all?"

Dave looked away and bit his lip.

"They all needed towels..." he said finally. Rob tried not to
smirk. He tried, and he failed. "But still, they all looked strange to me.
They weren't the normal people we get aboard. The brunette was travelling alone
too. Even that seemed odd."

"I don't know." Rob shook his head. "It does look bad."

"Hephaistos Engineering has confirmed today that it will be requesting
assistance from Starfleet in its investigation into the loss of several shuttle
components from their manufacturing facility on Starbase 33." The
screen opened to a hologram of a nervous bald man whose eyes flicked around
sharply. He seemed ill at ease with the imager pointing at him and stood
awkwardly, his arms tightly wrapped around him as he shifted his weight from
foot to foot.

"Can you tell us what your own investigation has shown up?" a
voice called out from behind the imager.

"Well..." he began with a measured nod. "Shuttle parts
are missing."

"Can you tell us what exactly is missing?" the voice called out
once more.

"Parts!" The nervous man wore a badge on his overalls stating
he was the factory foreman. "Part of shuttles. Shuttle-parts."

"Which parts exactly?" the voice asked once more, a little
wearily.

"Computer parts, I think." he shrugged awkwardly. "Bits
that control other bits. Parts that make other parts do things so that other
parts do things too. Control unit parts that control units."

"I see..." the voice said behind the viewer. "And how
did they go missing?"

"We lost them." the foreman admitted. "We're still
investigating. They could be anywhere. They're probably still here somewhere—some
of them are very small and easy to lose. We have people looking for them now.
Looking for the parts. The shuttle parts."

"Ok," said the voice, clearly giving up, "you've been
very helpful, thank you."

The foreman shrugged.

"Can I go now?"

Federation
small transport

"We need to talk." said Dave as he came into the cabin,
pulling off his uniform jacket and discarding it casually onto the back of a
chair. "This is getting serious!"

"Go on!" said Rob, finding himself slightly disturbed that his
room-mate had found something beyond running out of beer to be truly worthy of
concern. "What's happened? Did someone block the captain's toilet
today?"

"The brunette. But she didn't block the Captain's toilet. At least not
that I know of." he said simply. Rob sat back in silence and let him
continue. "She's going to a space-station. It's 2 days away, and she said
that's where the shuttles are being transferred."

"That would be station DS401." Rob mused thoughtfully. "It's a
cargo transfer station. To be fair, that is where a lot of shuttles get
transferred. What makes you think there's anything to worry about?"

"She said something else." Dave smiled grimly. "She said a
smuggler from the supply network was arrested there. She said she was going to
go and sort it out. She said she needed to get there before the people from
Earth-Central News got hold of the story."

"Really?"

Dave nodded and perched himself precariously on the back of his chair.

"She's got something to do with these missing shuttles. She's going to
sort out the problem. The problem must be that this smuggler got caught. It must
be why they're on the news."

"So what do we do?" Rob shrugged.

"We should have a beer!" Dave told him, nodding to himself in
approval.

"I meant what should we do about the brunette girl who's involved with
an interstellar smuggling ring who we suspect of stealing armed shuttles from
the Federation?" Rob told him with a sigh.

"Yeah." said Dave thoughtfully. "When you put it that way I do
find her slightly less attractive. Does that make me shallow? I don't like to
think of myself as shallow but I do—I think of myself that way all the
time." He sighed and hung his head. "Maybe I should have a meaningful
relationship with someone who isn't shallow. Maybe I could find a soul-mate—someone
as cool and good-looking as I am. Then I wouldn't be shallow anymore."

"We have to tell someone!" Rob told him flatly, slightly stunned at
how well he was illustrating his own stupidity.

"Or we could investigate ourselves!" Dave grinned. "Why
couldn't we be the heroes of the situation and solve the crime that's on all the
news programs?"

"Because I'm a waiter and you're an idiot who delivers towels." Rob
shrugged. "I'm not Shakespeare Holmes and you're not Doctor Livingstone."

"That is a good point." he agreed. "We should tell the
Captain, I suppose."

"Her padd?" Dave shrugged. "It has all the information we need
on it. I could steal her padd!"

"That's a brilliant idea." said Rob.

"I know." said Dave, grinning wildly. "What could possibly go
wrong?"

The Captain sat down on the chair between the two crewmen as they looked
nervously to one another and then away; anywhere, in fact, but back towards the
Captain. She was accompanied by two officers, one security officer who guarded
the door to their cabin, and the other, the head of passenger-services who stood
behind her looking ferocious and glowering down at the pair angrily. She looked
them over, one after the other as they sat in silence, desperately avoiding her
furious gaze.

"So..." she began finally. "I hope you both realise that this
is a very serious accusation that's been made against you."

"Yes." Dave agreed with a nod. He hung his head to the ground like
a guilty child. "Is it that serious?" He glanced to Rob and shrugged.
Rob nodded. Dave grimaced and looked away. "Yes, Captain, we realise now
that we're very sorry. We've learned from our mistakes and it won't happen
again, whatever bad thing it is that we did this time." Dave shook his head
and tutted as if rebuking himself for his stupidity. He turned to Rob. "We
done a bad thing again, Rob."

"Would either of you like to explain to me why you stole a padd from
Miss Somari Rakdee's cabin?" she asked angrily. "Perhaps you, Rob, as
you seem to be the brains of this outfit?"

"He did it." Rob pointed at Dave. "I don't know anything about
it. It was all his idea."

"Thanks, Rob. I appreciate your support."

"Enough!" the Captain shouted, standing up from the chair fast
enough to send it skittering along the metallic floor of their cabin. "I do
not expect to start my day with a complaint from a guest that a member of my
staff has pilfered items from her room. This is incomprehensible. Padds are
freely available—you can get one from the supply office you work in. Why in
the galaxy would you steal one?"

"It's a long story." Dave said weakly.

"I'm listening." she told him sternly, her eyes boring into him
with an intensity that went far beyond making him feel uncomfortable.

"Rob can tell it better." Dave pointed at him and flashed him a
tiny smile.

"Fine." Rob scowled back at his friend. "We needed
evidence."

"Evidence?" The Captain turned her anger on Rob who far preferred
it when it was pointed at Dave.

"Dave and myself have had a great deal of contact with Miss Somari
Rakdee over the last few days and we came to believe that there was something
untoward about her." Rob explained.

"A great deal of contact?" the Captain smiled knowingly, but it
held not a shred of warmth. She cast a glance to the security officer at the
door who shook his head at the pair as if disgusted by them. "I have also
had additional complaints from both of your shift supervisors. You've both been
far too familiar with Miss Rakdee for the last couple of days. I hear you've
made yourselves a total nuisance to this poor young lady."

"We were just trying to get a date!" Dave explained. "There
was nothing untoward about it, we were just doing it for a bet."

"If I sleep with her, Rob has to clean my underwear for a month."
Dave explained. "I've been eating curry."

"Curry!" she groaned and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Half
the people on board have heard about your special batch of curry."

"That was how it started!" Rob jumped in quickly to capitalise on
the fact the Captain had seemed to focus on the least offensive thing Dave had
mentioned in some time. "But we started noticing things. We started
realising that there was something wrong!"

"I should say there's something wrong!" the Captain shouted back at
him. "You two are always going wrong!"

The Captain narrowed her eyes and stared at him, then turned away from the
pair. She clasped her hands behind her back and gripped hold tightly. The pair
looked at one another in abject terror.

"You had better explain yourselves, and be extremely careful about what
you say." she said coldly with note of measured calm.

"Yes, sir." Rob agreed. "It's about the missing shuttles that
are on the news."

"What?" She turned back to them, her brow furrowed deeply.
"What about the shuttles on the news? What are you talking about now?"

"We think she's been stealing them!" Dave explained.

"What?" the Captain roared at him. "What the hell do you
mean?"

"Sir!" said Rob, trying again to calm things down. "We heard
things she was saying—it seems like she knows all about the shuttle thefts.
The story is all over the news. It's the biggest story going on in this part of
space."

"So you stole her padd because she knows about something that is all
over the news?" The Captain frowned at him accusingly.

"Well it does sound silly when you say it like that." Rob admitted
with a shrug.

"We were about to bring the evidence to you." Dave continued.
"I took the padd because I saw it open with details of where the stolen
shuttles were going."

"Right." The Captain flashed an expression to the security guard
standing by the door who smiled back knowingly. She shook her head and looked
back to the pair. "So... you're telling me that in the course of sexually
harassing a passenger, you came to believe that she was so well informed about
an incident on the news that she simply had to be involved in criminal
activity?"

"Exactly!" Dave agreed. Rob slapped his arm and frowned at him.

"The pair of you are confined to your quarters until I decide how to
deal with you. I promise you that it won't be pleasant this time." she told
them. "I'm very disappointed in you both. Why do I always have to be called
to your cabin every couple of weeks to deal with your nonsense? What is it with
you two?"

"Yes, sir." said Rob dejectedly. "We're sorry. Again..."

"Firstly, Miss Somari Rakdee has every right to expect a reasonable
level of privacy aboard this vessel." the Captain began. "If she's
involved in any wrongdoing, then it's up to the authorities to deal with that
matter, not a couple of waiters."

"I'm not a waiter, Sir. I deliver towels." Dave corrected. She gave
him a look that withered him instantly.

"If you have suspicions then it's your duty to bring those suspicions to
the proper authorities, not steal from the passenger's cabin."

"Yes sir." Rob agreed. "I realise that, sir."

"And for your information, yes, Miss Rakdee does know a lot about the
news. She's a journalist; she writes the news. She's travelling with us
while she continues her investigations."

Rob hung his head in exasperation.

"Oh!" exclaimed Dave. "That makes far more sense than what we
came up with."

"Yes!" the Captain told him. "And as for the sexual
harassment, let me assure you both that you're really not her type." She
glowered at them for a moment before turning to leave. She stepped through the
door still churning on her rage. The passenger-support officer at the door left
with her, hefting a large plunger. He stopped to glare at them with an extra
little measure of hostility that he had to work hard to find. Dave watched them
both leave, and turned to Rob frowning.

"Neither of you had a chance." he told them as he walked towards
the door, still shaking his head. "She's been seeing the Captain. You're
really, really not her type."

"The Captain? The Captain is a woman." Dave frowned. "Isn't
she?"

"I think so, yes." Rob agreed weakly with a shrug

"You two are total idiots." said the officer as he left. "You
need to be more careful. This is how rumours get started."

They watched as the doors closed.

"We are idiots." said Dave. "It's nice to have it confirmed
once in a while though, isn't it?"

"You know something, I'm actually not." said Rob softly. "I
think I'm going to quit being a waiter and get a proper job. I think it's time I
lived up to my potential."

"Maybe I should live up to my potential too." Dave shrugged. The
silence dragged on awkwardly for several seconds.

"You know somewhere across the vastness of the galaxy there's a Borg
scout watching us with powerful sensors that glow green for some reason that I
don't care about." said Dave solemnly. Rob turned to look at him. "A
Borg drone will look up from his console and say the time is now for them to
attack the Federation. A dirty fork has been detected in our sector. It begins
with a fork and then a plate. Before you know it the table-cloths are at
slightly wrong angles and the little paper towels don't look anything like
swans."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Rob shook his head in
dismay. Dave raised a finger and gestured for silence. He continued.

"The second scout agrees—civilisation is breaking down, the entire
Federation is in danger of collapse. The Borg Queen readies her fleet of
funny-looking square space-ships."

"Dave?" Rob sneered. "What the hell have you been drinking
this time?"

"And then you know what happens, Rob?" Dave smiled thinly.
"They try to press the buttons that make the ships work and they're just
too slimy. They slide off and the invasion has to be aborted. It's a towel, Rob.
The lack of a towel saved us all." Rob just shook his head. "That's
what we do, Rob. We're saving the galaxy one dirty fork, one fluffy towel at a
time. Without us there wouldn't be a Federation. There'd be wet hands and
slightly dirty cutlery. Anarchy, Rob. Madness."

"There are no words." Rob told him, aghast.

"If only the Borg had beer, Rob." Dave shook his head sadly.
"Something fully flavoured and less gassy."